


Sinking

by riverbed



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern AU, Nightmares/Flashbacks, Past Rape, Rape Recovery, Sexual Assault, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:49:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbed/pseuds/riverbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lafayette, used to repressing, used to working through shit on his own, finally comes up against his match: a sexual assault at a party that plagues him no matter how hard he wishes it away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a rare or hated pairing still? Whoops.
> 
> I couldn't stop thinking this morning about my own experience with assault so I got up and channeled it here. Before work. That wasn't exactly my best decision ever.
> 
> Be forewarned, there's nothing that graphic, but it gets dark fast. If this is a sensitive area for you and you are not in the right mindset, this could trigger pretty badly.

Alexander has essentially moved in.

Lafayette’s off-campus one-bedroom is increasingly filled with Alexander’s things these days, his clothes stuffed into three drawers so that his partner can take the other three, Alex’s very particular shave cream and cologne in the bathroom cabinet, oatmeal and fresh fruit always on the counter in the mornings when he rises, inevitably after his lover, to head for his own sugared cold cereal.

He loves him, he realizes one such morning, as he watches Alex stir ground cinnamon into his breakfast. He hadn’t thought about that. It comes as a shock, and it comes as even more of a shock that he’d said it out loud, as Alex comes around the table to kiss him, and his lips are like a spark of fresh air flooding his lungs.

Once in a while Lafayette absently supposes he should be charging him rent, but he can’t bring himself to have that conversation, and then he shakes himself of what is decidedly his father’s preoccupation with money.

*

Lafayette doesn’t know if Alexander suspects that anything’s up.

He does know this: Alex seems to understand that he needs to be doted upon, seems to sense that he needs to be touched gently and slowly, always thoughtfully, reverently laying a hand against his thigh and looking him in the eye, taking him over the edge with just a glance. He kisses him after, letting their noses brush, a reminder that reality can be kind and sweet rather than brutal and angry.

They touch each other side to side, or Alexander kneels in front of him and grips his hips lightly for a bit of control, runs his hands across his chest and stomach as his mouth yields, and Lafayette has no problem not thinking bad thoughts during times like those.

Immediately after, of course, he is overtaken by grief that he can’t return the favor, and frustration that he can’t explain it, though Alex never seems to mind, just finishes himself off while Lafayette moans theatrically and kisses him, open-mouthed, smiling at him as he comes down and lazily brushes his fingertips across the tops of Lafayette’s shoulders and down his collarbone.

Even with love spoken between them, they have not gotten so far as to have one of them on top.

They tried once, Alex's groin against his in a way that he knew should have felt good, but instead the knees framing his body in a vice took him right back to that dim room, the foul smell of stale weed in the air and ripe rum on the young man’s breath and the thumping of music from downstairs, and the vomit had risen in his throat like an imminent threat and he had scrambled from beneath him in his panic and fled to the bathroom, leaving Alex confused and calling after him. After, he had felt so awful for it that he had stayed in there, his back against the door while Alex knocked and begged and soothed through it, until he finally heard him gather his bag and keys off the desk and leave the apartment.

Lafayette woke up not much later, the cool tile pressed to his face where he had slumped all the way down to the floor. As what had happened that day flooded back to him, he had scrambled hurriedly for his phone in his back pocket.

 

2:44 pm -> God i’m so sorry

2:45 pm -> please come back? come back home, please

2:45 pm -> don’t hate me alex

 

The wait had been excruciating, but he should have known better.

 

2:49 pm <\- Don’t worry about it

2:50 pm <\- I realize text doesn’t get my tone across, but seriously I know you’re worrying about it, so I’ll say again: don’t worry about it

2:50 pm <\- It’s absolutely fine. I could tell you just needed some time. I’m about to be in class, do you need me to come back?

 

2:50 pm -> nononono

2:51 pm -> don’t skip. i will be fine

2:51 pm -> i am fine. go to class. just come back when it’s over.

 

2:51 pm <\- Yes.

2:52 pm <\- See you soon.

 

When he did come back, Alexander hadn’t asked about it, just gathered him into his arms and let him cry.

“Something happened to me,” he had said finally by way of explanation, rubbing his eyes on the fabric of his sleeve gathered around his hand.

Alexander had smiled sadly. “I know,” he said, brushing a stray lock of hair back behind Lafayette’s ear like he was distracted by it. “And when you want, we can talk about it.”

He had felt  _ so ready _ to let go of it then, but out of pure habit, had swallowed the impulse.

*

Something is wrong with his drink.

Terrifying, the way the room suddenly spins, forcing him to retreat into the space between his knees, doubling over in the armchair he’s seated in, shutting his eyes tight when he finds that even the floor is moving rapidly.

He forces himself to look up when the man speaks to him, fighting to place him as someone he had spoken to earlier in the evening. And then - oh, this  _ was _ someone he knew, tangentially, someone who dropped by occasional Young Democrats meetings. But that’s all - he can’t recall who he’s friends with, can’t really even make out the color of his eyes. He calls him by his name, but not his nickname, and offers him a ride, explaining that he just needs to grab his coat from upstairs. Lafayette insists he’ll stay here while he gets the coat, or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he follows him without complaint.

In the nightmare, he isn't so sure. The scenarios alternate.

Eventually the dream finds him splayed groggily across a full-size bed, perspective top-down even though he can feel what his other self is feeling as he watches it play out - numb, tired, scared. The man is up against him, the forced intimacy of the too-hot breath against his neck as much a threat as the hand just below, ready to encircle his throat, and Lafayette screams, or maybe doesn’t, maybe the fear runs his voice ragged and all that comes out is silence. The man is stronger than him, which he’s not used to, but his limbs are so  _ useless _ ; he is kicking and pushing and fighting but everything is so  _ heavy _ , god damn it, and he feels like he’s underwater, chained to a rock, unable to swim up.

He feels like a shipwreck, feels doomed.

Then Alexander is staring at him, eyes brown as good milk chocolate, and he can’t remember waking up, can’t pinpoint the moment the dream cut to what’s real. What’s real is this, he tells himself; the warmth of the hand on his shoulder, Alexander’s eyes. It’s early morning; dawn pours in shyly through the venetians. Hamilton tilts his head to give him another quizzical look, something like a puppy cautiously studying a new sound, and then, as if he had to make sure Lafayette won’t freak when he moves, he rises from the bed, begins crossing the room to the closet.

“Stay here, please.” It comes right out, nothing shading or filtering it, and Lafayette finds himself pretty unimpressed by the quietness of his own voice. Hamilton stops short halfway to the dresser, turns on the heel of his sock to face him and seems to sense that there is something more to “stay with me” this particular morning than “stay with me.”

He moves back to the bed, dives in from the foot, his face in the pillow for a moment while he settles. Then he turns to face Lafayette, all sleepy-eyed and messy-haired. Lafayette reaches out, takes a shaky deep breath as he touches him, a palm at the nape of his neck like an anchor.

_ He would protect me given the chance, _ he reminds himself, and finally gives him the chance.

*

An hour later, they are both sitting cross-legged amongst the rumpled down comforter, and they have both been marked absent from their Tuesday-morning classes.

“When did this happen?” Alexander asks cautiously, as if he’s warring with himself to be able to do so. He’s messing with a place the blanket has frayed, a little thread he keeps tugging in a vain attempt to stop the damage.

“That party in the fall at Kappa Sigma.”

He watches the angry fire light in Hamilton’s eyes. “I was  _ there?" _ And then, after another moment: “We were…” his eyes widen, looking at Lafayette directly now for the first time in 20 minutes.

Lafayette almost can’t handle it, but he's the one who brought this up. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I had - we hadn’t slept together, yet - I hadn’t slept with  _ anyone _ yet - we had just started dating, and I didn’t want you to think I was broken.” He hesitates, threading his hand through his own hair, untangling a stubborn curl. “I guess now you know I am.”

His lover’s eyes slope down - and there it is, that empathy that kills him, the same kindness that compels Alexander to make him breakfast he doesn’t eat, clean and organize his desk after he stays up too late studying, soothe away stress with deft hands on his shoulder blades. He pulls him close, and for whatever reason, being held is what makes the waterworks start when he hasn’t cried at all this morning, and before long Lafayette is sniffling pathetically against Hamilton’s shirt, his accent coming in thick when he tries to speak through the tears.

“I just - haven’t dealt with it, you know?” he offers when he’s pulled himself together a bit. “Nobody knows. You’re the first one I have told.”

Alexander does his best to hide the way his eyes go accusatory, but Lafayette doesn’t fault him for it. The truth is, he knows better, knew better right away. He had even found himself in the advising and counseling office late the next morning, after he had gone to the nearest clinic and got set with testing and some medication for the humiliating pain and the sleep issues he knew would come. He had checked in, been told the wait would be 15 minutes or less for a counselor, and got sat down with a magazine before the reality of what he was doing there set in and he panicked, hastily gathering his things and rushing out.

“I’ll do my best to help, but I think…” Alexander trails off, his hand drawing little circles against Lafayette’s scalp. “I’m out of my depth here, Laf. You need to see someone.”

To Lafayette’s own surprise, he agrees easily. “Yeah, I can look for someone. I can just tell my parents it’s for stress if they even notice it on the insurance bill.” He trusts Alexander. He smiles up at him, convincing though his eyes are wet, and it’s returned.

He feels like a small brass weight has lifted off him, having said it aloud, and wonders if each and every one of them will feel exponentially more freeing as they are removed.

Maybe he’ll walk a little more upright someday soon; maybe he’ll forget what it’s like to be so weighed down.


End file.
